


Four Phone Calls that Never Happened

by marauder_in_warblerland



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:16:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauder_in_warblerland/pseuds/marauder_in_warblerland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of phone calls set during season five. Each chapter is a stand-alone story featuring a different friendship or relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Phone call #1: Pure Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to my glorious betas gluttonouspenguin, amongsoulsandshadows, and foramomentonly!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone Call #1: Mike and Blaine wouldn’t let a little distance come between their beautiful friendship. Takes place between “New Directions” and “New New York.”

“So, would you characterize your love of New York as an intense crush or everlasting true love?”

“Hmmm.” Blaine pretended to think through the question while Mike laughed on the other end of the line. “Can I say neither?”

“That’s cheating, my friend, and you know it.” 

Blaine could hear the honks and squeals of the Chicago streets behind Mike’s voice, like a warped version of the city sounds outside his own apartment window. Since the big Glee reunion and Blaine’s move, they’d fallen into weekly phone calls while Blaine made breakfast and Mike walked to his first class of the day. In an odd way, it still felt like he was giving his friend a ride to school, minus the smell of his dad’s 1993 Dodge Dart.

“I don’t love New York City, not really,” Blaine explained. “I love having a routine in New York, if that makes any sense. I love walking Kurt to class and meeting him at the diner after work, and on the weekends when we can just make breakfast in bed—”

“So what you’re saying is that nothing’s changed since high school. Blaine Anderson’s still all about his boyfriend and being anal retentive." 

Blaine snorted into the phone. “Fiancé, please, and I also love the food, the incredible food. Oh my god, our moms would kill for the dim sum place down the street from the loft. Our tiny, Asian mothers would commit murder for these chicken feet." 

“Please don’t ever tell them that,” Mike said, over the sound of passing sirens. “I don’t want to know what the two of them would get up to in prison.”

“They’d probably create their own empire in contraband hair products. But seriously Mike, it’s weird actually being here, instead of just dreaming about it.” Blaine cracked two eggs into a bowl and whisked as he talked, holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “I don’t know what it was like when you first got to Chicago, but I have to keep reminding myself that New York is a real, live place. Even when I’m going to school and making dinner and being normal, I keep thinking that it’s all going to turn into some version of Tina’s fantasy from when she got her second concussion. One of these days, I assume Rachel’s gonna have a tanning accident and Sam’s gonna start walking around in his underwear.”

“And I’m sure you would really hate that reality.”

“I’m going to pretend you’re talking about Rachel’s skin tone, which I would accept regardless.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not saying Tina imagined a bad version of New York. It just wasn’t real.” He tipped the bowl into a pan and poked the frying eggs with a spatula. “I can’t walk around waiting to see Mercedes or Puck in diner uniforms or for you to suddenly show up trying to get Tina back. I can’t even hope to see Tina until Christmas, and you know how much I miss that girl.”

“Wait, go back.” Mike said, his voice suddenly sharp with confusion. “What was that about me getting Tina back?”

Blaine stopped, arm poised above the eggs. “Don’t you remember her hallucination—the second one? You showed up in the middle to steal her away from— well, actually I don’t know who you were stealing her from. I think you were in a diner uniform too, but Tina wasn’t exactly coherent. Didn’t she tell you that part?”

“No,” Mike said slowly. “She didn’t include the parts where I did anything. I just assumed I was in the crowd scenes, smiling and swaying in the background. To be clear, you’re saying that my ex-girlfriend’s idea of the perfect future centers around us getting back together? She could have pictured herself with Neil Patrick Harris or Matt Bomer and she went with me?” Mike’s voice went up a couple decibels with each question and Blaine tried not to laugh.

“All gay men?”

“I know her type.”

 _“_ Well,” Blaine paused to consider his words. “I suppose you could see it that way, but Tina’s brain-damaged version of reality doesn’t necessarily mean anything. We don’t even know if she imagined things that she would want to actually happen. I mean, there was the part where Rachel wouldn’t come out of the bathroom and, apparently, Kurt and I were practically having sex in the middle of the apartment.”

“And?”

“Okay, true.” Blaine tried not to think too hard about his role in Tina’s fantasies, “but that still doesn’t mean she wants you back. It can be nice just to feel wanted. Maybe she just likes the idea of you wanting _her_ back. Who doesn’t like the idea of being wooed?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Mike trailed off, distracted, and Blaine could actually hear him thinking too hard. “I—I’m gonna go. I’m almost at the auditorium and the traffic’s getting crazy.”

“Okay. Let me know if you want to talk, and be safe in that traffic. Hear from you next week?”

The phone clicked as Mike abruptly hung up. He didn’t have to say anything for the answer to be yes. Left with only the sounds of his city, Blaine dumped the eggs onto a plate and turned to where Kurt was reading on the sofa. 

“Well done,” Kurt said, without looking up from _The New Yorker_. “I would have clapped, but I think Mike might have noticed.”

“Not at the end,” Blaine smirked, setting his plate on the coffee table and dropping into a chair. “You could have given your brilliant fiancé a standing ovation with a brass band and his mind would have been. . .  elsewhere.”

“And you look like such a nice guy.”

“I do, don’t I?” Blaine smiled, and Kurt tossed a throw pillow at his head. “Hey! Don’t forget that I grew up with Cooper. Strategic acumen was a necessity for Anderson-family survival. I was raised for evil.”

“Ah,” Kurt lowered the page until only his eyes and nose were visible over the magazine, “so that’s why I love you.”

“Exactly.”

“Think Tina’s going to forgive you?” Kurt asked, going back to his article.

“I think she’s going to realize that she owes me in about three, two, one—“

**[Text from Queen T]**

BLAINE DEVON ANDERSON! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO?

 


	2. Call #2: Saving Fanny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only person worse than Kurt Hummel in a crisis is Tina Cohen-Chang. Takes place during “The Back-Up Plan.”

“What on earth could you possibly want right now?”

Kurt answered the phone on the first ring, but somehow Tina got the sense that he might not be in the mood to talk.

“Why hello to you too, Kurt,” Tina shot back, without venom. “Having another beautiful day in Bushwick? Providence is gorgeous this time of year. It’s supposed to be sunny with only a slight chance of rain for the next three days—” 

“Shut up. I’m sure there’s a completely legitimate reason for why you called, but you have to help me. . . it’s Rachel.”

“When isn’t it Rachel?” Tina sighed. They clearly weren’t going to have time to talk about her cute lab partner, who totally isn’t gay. 

“She’s gone.” Tina sat down hard on her bed and gasped into the phone, only to hear a sudden sputtering on the other end of the line. “No! Oh god, I’m sorry. She’s okay. I meant to say that she’s in LA trying out for a TV pilot and she missed her flight back to New York and now if she doesn’t get back in time, she’s going to get fired from the only role she was actually born to play.”

“What? KURT! You almost killed me." 

“I know!” Kurt sucked in a panicked breath and she heard soft thumping sounds in the background. She could almost imagine him pacing around her kitchen and smacking the paper towel holder off of her counter. It wouldn’t have been the first time, and today she would have smacked back.

“Oh my god. Oh my god! How could Rachel fly across the country before a show? Was she _high_? Have you been giving her drugs?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt moaned into the receiver. “She was so sure that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and, you know, it’s _Rachel_.” Tina made what she hoped were sympathetic noises into the receiver. “Now, none of my idiotic friends in this town are picking up their phones, and I am going to kill them all with one of the bokken from combat class. I can do it.”

“I know you can. Blaine sent me the vine, but don’t go there just yet. We can figure this out.” Her voice might have gone into panic mode, but Tina hoped Kurt was too gone to notice. “How long do we have before the show?”

“Four hours.”

“What’s the chance Rachel will actually be back in time to go on stage?”

“None. Zero. Is there such thing as a negative chance?”

“Understudy?” Tina tried.

“Fell off the stage.”

“Kurt, you’re not helping.”

“Believe it or not, I am. This production was apparently thrown together by the same people who thought _Carrie: The Musical_ was a good idea.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I wish,” he snorted. The pace of his steps increased on the kitchen floor. “What we need is some way to get everyone out of the theater until we can either sneak Rachel backstage or get the entire performance cancelled. Pretend you’re a producer. What’s something you don’t want in your theater?”

“Bees?"

“TINA.”

“I’m serious!” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around a pillow. “I hate their little fuzzy bodies.”

“Okay, besides bees. What if I pulled the fire alarm? Everyone would have to evacuate! They would have to spend the entire night investigating the ‘incident’ before they let anyone back into the theater.”

“Oh for god’s sake! What incident? Are you in high school?” Tina rolled her eyes. “I forgot you were the guy who thought ‘Can’t Touch This’ would get us in trouble.”

“It was a reasonable assumption! You’re not supposed to make noise in the library!”

“Whatever you say, Capone.” Tina heard him snort on the other end and smiled. At least she didn’t have to worry about Kurt hyperventilating before they could come up with a solution. She flopped back onto her bed, phone to her ear, and contemplated the ceiling. “It’s a shame Blaine couldn’t do the part. I bet he knows it.”

“In his sleep, but I’m not sure the producer is that open minded. Also, Rachel might not get the part back. It would be nothing but ‘Frankie Bryce’ from now until the revival in Hoboken.”

“True, but now that I think about it, Blaine might have too much pure, masculine energy to play the ingénue.”

“Tina?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“That would probably be best.” The ceiling really was fascinating.

“What about weather?” Kurt tried. “Don’t they cancel Broadway shows if there’s a storm? It would have to be a lot more than rain, but maybe someone up there really doesn’t want to see Rachel Berry lose her job. I’m going to go check the National Weather Service for hurricanes.”

His voice trailed off into breathing sounds as he turned his attention towards the computer. On her end, Tina stared vacantly towards the top of her dresser and right into a picture collage from her junior year. The idea hit her like a freight train. “What about Cooper?”

“What about him?” Kurt paused in his muttered recitation of the weather forecast for New York and the surrounding counties. “He’s intense, but I wasn’t aware that he’d been categorized as a tropical storm.”

“No, you dummy.” Tina said, glaring into the phone. “He could be your distraction! You could hire Cooper to take over the theater or something. There could even be hostages! Then, they’d have to cancel the show.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I think he’d be really believable.”

“He has been bugging Blaine to let him visit— ”

“And you know that he would hop on a plane in a _second_ if it meant playing a role in a Broadway theater. He’s only, what, in Connecticut right now?”

“New Jersey. Tourism commercial.”

“Whatever. It’s perfect.” 

“Not exactly.” Kurt’s voice dropped back into a frustrated groan. “Cooper wouldn’t be here to save Rachel’s future. He’d be here to make an unforgettable first impression. You know what would happen. He’d be whipping out head shots at the first sign of a famous producer, and then forget about the hostages.”

Tina couldn’t argue with that logic, even if Cooper would have made a gorgeous terrorist. “What about Santana?” She tried. “We could always hire _her_ to play the terrorist. You know that she’d stay in character— terrorizing theater geeks was basically her only hobby in high school.”

“That and setting things on fire.”

“All the better.”

“But she’d never do it!” Kurt said, irritation rising. “I don’t have any proof, but Satan’s probably the one who pushed Rachel’s understudy off the stage.”

“I thought she was doing better? Blaine said that she turned into Santana 4.0 after Lesbos.” 

“Better, yes, but this wouldn’t just require semi-human behavior. Kidnapping an entire theater for hours in an elaborate ruse to delay a performance of _Funny Girl_ would require actual kindness, and I’m not sure she’s capable of that kind of empathy.” 

“She might do it for fun though.”

“Oh, absolutely.” Kurt snorted.

“What if we didn’t tell her it was for Rachel—” 

“Shit damn motherfucker!”

Tina stopped, waiting to find out if Blaine was on fire.

“Sorry,” Kurt said, in a panic, “I just saw the time—”

“Right. No. You should go. Good luck!” She was about to hang up when she heard him calling her back.

“Tina, thank you for listening! I promise we can talk about whatever you wanted to talk about tomorrow. First thing. Or whenever.” He rushed through the words and she smiled, wishing she could have been there to send him out the door.

“Don’t even worry about it. Go save the day and remember that Rachel’s lucky to have us on her side.”

“So lucky. Sometimes I swear we are the only people in her life who know how to handle an emergency.”

After she hung up, Tina looked down at the phone in her hand and sighed. It was a shame she couldn’t be there to help in person, but at least, if she knew Kurt Hummel, he’d have Santana kidnapping a theater full of innocent audience members by nightfall.


	3. Call #3: Wiser Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unique sucks at keeping secrets.

“Why is Beiste holding auditions for _The Music Man_?”

“Is this a philosophical question or is that just our new special way of starting conversations?” Unique put her phone on speaker and reached for her box of nail polish under her bed. “I’m just fine either way, but that greeting needs some _serious_ work.”

“No.” Marley sighed and audibly rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, but that’s not what I meant and you know it. The musical isn’t supposed to be _The Music Man_. It’s supposed to be—” she grasped for words like a verbal flail. “—It’s supposed to be something else.”

“And why is that? _The Music Man_ is a perfectly nonthreatening musical. Not a single homosexual character in the entire town.”

“I know that. You know that, but I also know that Beiste and Mr. Martinez picked the musical and they hate _The Music Man_.”

“Hate is such a strong word. . .” Unique wanted to ask Marley’s opinion on the mint green polish, but it didn’t seem like the right moment. 

“Hate might be too strong, but they love other shows, right? Beiste has been trying to convince Sue to let her do _The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas_ since Halloween. She says it’s the only real Broadway musical with a lil’ country soul.”

“Bless her heart.”

“And Mr. Martinez kept interrupting Spanish class to talk about _The Pirates of Penzance_.” 

“Okay, even Unique knows Gilbert and Sullivan isn’t happening in Lima, Ohio.” She shuddered at thoughts of carnage and went back to her nails.

“Both Bieste and Martinez had shows that they were fighting for! Strange, inappropriate shows, but still. Now I’m supposed to believe that they both changed their minds and decided to go with the only show that I love more than _Anything Goes_?” Unique could hear her breathing into the phone, probably from sitting down and then getting back up again between each sentence. Leave it to Marley to hyperventilate about getting exactly what she wanted. “Do you understand?” She went on, “I love that show. I LOVE IT. I even love that really dumb song about the girl who’s hard to get because it’s quaint and sounds like something my grandma would say to make me blush.”

“You are probably the only person under the age 60 who can say “shipoopi” without a whole lot of old fashioned anesthetic, if you know what I’m saying. It’s ridiculous, but maybe someone else in our god forsaken school knows that you were born to play Marian the Librarian.” 

Marley snorted into the receiver. “Like who? Sue? That would only happen if—” Suddenly she gasped. “Oh my god, what if this is part of an elaborate plan to get back at us for the petition to restart the Glee club! How could I have been so blind? She never had a way of making fun of me before—”

“And as Urethra Franklin, I’m sad for both of you.”

“But this could her way of saying that she’s finally figured me out! She’s going to terrorize me with seventy-six trombones and I can’t handle that, Unique. I love _The Music Man_ too much to watch it become a weapon in an endless war!”

Unique heard a rustling and a sharp gasp, as though Marley were breathing into a paper bag. She tried to be a good friend, but sometimes theater people made it so difficult. “Marley?” The heavy breathing continued. “You can go ahead and stop freaking out now, Marley. It wasn’t Sue that made your dream come true.” Unique took a deep breath. “It was Jake.”

For a long minute, there was no sound on the other end of the line. And then, she heard a quiet, “Jake, like Jake Puckerman?”

“Yes, honey,” she sighed. “Apparently Captain Twinkletoes has been pestering Bieste and Martinez for weeks. Now he’s got what he wanted, but he owes them both— big time.”

“Owes them?” Marley’s voice dropped into a revolted whisper. “What— what does he have to do?”

For a second, Unique was confused, and then she dropped her nail polish on the bedspread. “Marley Rose!” Of all the disgusting— “Girl, get your head out of the gutter! Jake is going to be picking up Bieste’s daily rotisserie chicken for the duration of the musical rehearsals and he’s playing the lead in Martinez’s classroom production of ‘Intro to Ole’ for the beginning Spanish class at Lima Elementary.”

“Ohhhh. That makes more sense.”

“Mmmhmm. I only found out because I overheard Mr. Martinez giving him guidelines for his costume.”

“There’s a costume?!” Unique was suddenly very glad that the phone wasn’t up to her ear. “But, wait. Why didn’t Jake tell me? Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my god, does Ryder know? Don’t give me that look! You’ve been telling him everything since _Grease_.”

“Does— No, Ryder does not know, because it’s none of his beeswax.”

“Unique.”

“Okay, he doesn’t know because I thought you should know first.”

“Unique.” 

“Alright! I haven’t actually seen him yet, but you could at least pretend that I’m capable of keeping a secret.”

“Not from him.” And for the first time since she picked up the phone, it sounded like Marley had cracked a smile. “But why didn’t Jake say anything? Does he think I’m so pathetic that I’d run back into his arms because I got to sing ’Til There Was You? I’m not like that anymore.”

Unique smiled as she flapped her nails dry. “You were never like that, hon. Not really. I don’t know why he decided to turn into the musical crusader. The boy wasn’t in a talking mood. That boy is never in a talking mood, but I don’t think he was trying to get you back. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have told you?”

“I suppose. . .”

“You two might not be dating anymore, but you’re not stupid. You know that he still likes to make you smile. Did you smile when you heard about the musical?”

“ . . . Yes.”

“Well, there we go,” Unique said, softly. “So, are you running back into those arms?”

“Unique!”

“I wouldn’t blame you, girl. Those are some good arms.”

“No, I am not,” Marley shot back. “But. . .” She trailed off. 

“But what?”

“It’s a start.”


	4. Call #4: The Problem with Nittany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana doesn’t have a problem with Rachel’s TV show, because that would be stupid and Santana isn’t stupid. Takes place shortly after “The Untitled Rachel Berry Project.”

Brittany had been quiet for a long time.

It wasn’t a bad quiet, like it might have been with someone else. That’s one of the things that she loved about skyping with Brittany. If it had been someone else like Mercedes or, god forbid, Rachel, she would have had to say something already or she would have gone out of her mind, but with Brit silence didn’t always have to be filled.

If Brit was quiet, it was probably for a reason. She got distracted, or needed to think about the next day, or wanted to make something for Lord Tubbington. Sometimes, Santana just had to be patient and wait until she was ready to talk again.

Today, Brit was coloring something off screen, so Santana could only see the side of her head, her face nothing but a long curtain of blonde hair.

“Brit?” The curtain twitched, but she didn’t look up. “Honey, are you ok? The table’s shaking and you only color that hard when you’re upset.”

Brittany sighed and flipped her hair back with one hand, to peer up at the camera. “I don’t want the show to stop. Mary had an awesome plan and I really liked the show, but then Rachel used her magical vocal cords to change everything.” Brit kept coloring with one hand as she rested her cheek on the other. “I know that it’s her show and she can make it different if she wants to, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”

“What show?” Santana shook her head and blinked at the screen, like Brit’s mind would suddenly come into focus. “Are you talking about that script that the bizarro TV lady wrote for Berry, the one with the lice?” Of all the details that Kurt decided to text about the script from crazyville, that one stood out, possibly because he sent it three times.

“Of course,” Brittany stabbed her crayons into the paper with intention. “There was nothing wrong with her script. It was just special and different, like Christmas tree ornaments but after they catch on fire and get melty.”

“Brit, I could list a number of things wrong with the script that dare not speak its name, starting with the fact that it featured you sleeping with the hobbit.”

Brit put down her crayon, confusion written across her face as Santana continued. “I should be more specific. You slept with the boy hobbit not the girl hobbit.” She shuddered. “God, I don’t actually know which one would be worse.”

“But the script wasn’t about me and Blaine,” Brittany said, like she was explaining the potty to a toddler. “The show was about Nittany and Slaine, and they’re not like us at all. If I was on the show, I would never sleep with Blaine, because Kurt’s really scary when he gets mad and I don’t think he likes to share. He’d probably push me out my bedroom window while I was sleeping.”

Santana raised one eyebrow.

Brittany shrugged. “Lord Tubbington tried that one time, but that was before rehab.” 

Brittany went on. “Anyway, I wouldn’t do that because that Blaine wouldn’t be nice like our Blaine. None of the characters are like anybody in real life, except Cert. He was just like actual Kurt. So creepy.”

Santana crossed her arms and slouched back in her chair. “Sure, and it’s just a wild coincidence that you love a show that doesn’t even have a fake version of your girlfriend? No one could have said, “hey crazy Hollywood lady! Why don’t we wait a week until our bestie Santana gets back? Right now, she’s off filming an advertisement that probably makes her lady bits want to shrivel up and swear off the world of the living’?”

She looked away from Brittany’s concerned face on the screen and inspected the fraying ends of the hotel carpet with her toe. She knew why she wasn’t included in the idiotic mirror version of Rachel’s life; she wasn’t there, but still. . . . It’s not like she wanted to be a bit character in Berry’s melodrama, but it still hurt to see how easy it was for some stranger to make a version of their lives that didn’t even include her. She wasn’t the villain or reduced to playing the funny lesbian. She was just . . . gone, like a person named Santana Lopez never even existed. God, it must have been like Rachel Berry’s wet dream.

Brittany didn’t say anything about Santana not being in New York to be observed or ask why she was really upset. Those all fell under topics that they never really needed to say out loud. Instead, Brit cocked her head at the screen. “She’s probably saving your character for the second season,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t ask. Every show needs a really great character to bring in during season two to shake everything up, and I bet your character would be perfect.”

Santana squinted up Brit’s flickering face. “You think my character would be a game changer?”

“Of course. She couldn’t be like you, but I bet she still wouldn’t be scared of Cert.” Santana cracked a smile and looked down at her lap. “I bet that Dantana—”

“No. Different name.”

“Okay,” Brit said with a smile, “I bet that even though Mantana is usually shy and sweet—”

Santana rolled her eyes. “So, not at all like me.”

“Not at all like you. She would still do everything she had to do to protect Nittany. Her love would make her strong.”

Santana laughed under her breath. “Yes, Mantana would summon her strength and make sure that Slaine knows all about the new badass sheriff in town. It wouldn’t matter how many art spaces Nittany and Slaine created with their creepy, hairless love.”

“Awwww!” Brittany’s eyes did that thing where they crinkled around the edges and Santana wished she could reach right through the camera lens.

“You better believe it,” Santana snorted. “No character of mine would be scared of Hummel and his army of musical hobbits. I have every barista between Bushwick and Jersey in my back pocket and you don’t want to see what happens to Lady Hummelina on decaf.”

For one long minute, Brit didn’t say a thing. She just stared into the camera with a half smile and held two fingers to her temple. 

“What?” Santana wiped at her cheek. “Did I get something on my face?”

Brit lowered her hand and leaned into the screen. “You just say sweet things sometimes and I was trying to remember.” 

“Well stop trying to memorize my embarrassment and talk. I’ll see you in five days for the concert in Reno.”

Brit grinned. “Mercedes says that we’re going to have a trailer for the shows in California. Do you think that she would let us have a coffee rave? It wouldn’t be the same without Blartie, but I think that might help me move through the grief.”

“Absolutely. We will convince Miss Superstar Mercedes Jones that she needs at least one coffee rave each night after the show to maintain, I don’t know, team morale or some shit like that.”

“Oh, thank you!” Brit grabbed “Lezi,” the stuffed cat Santana bought her during their trip, and hugged it to her chest. “You’re the best girlfriend and I’m sure Nittany would think that about Mantana too. I bet they would have the most beautiful fake babies.”

“Brit?” Santana leaned forward over her desk and propped her head up on her hands. “You’re planning Nittany/Mantana fanfic now, aren’t you?”

“Mmmhmmm,” Brit hummed with a nod. 

“Well, here’s the deal. If you make it to Reno in exactly five days with all the supplies for a rocking coffee rave, I promise to be your first reader. Crazy Hollywood lady won’t even know what hit her.” 


	5. Bonus Phone Call #5: Seven months, Five Days, and Forty-five Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine doesn’t prepare for a move like most people. He prepares better. Takes place between “New Directions” and “New New York.”

“I crossed off RPatz this morning! Got him right between the eyes,” Blaine crowed, brandishing his Sharpie like a sword. It wasn’t easy to make out fine movement on the Skype screen, but Kurt thought that he might be doing the wand movements for _Wingardium Leviosa_. Wrong spell, but he liked the spirit.

“Aww, poor Robert Pattinson.” Kurt said with a mock pout. “I might not be on team Edward, but he didn’t deserve to be marred.”

“It had to be done,” Blaine shrugged. “If checking off one more calendar square on my man-a-day calendar means one less day before I move in with my fiancé, then it must be checked. Robert should know that he went down for a good cause.”

“I’m sure that will comfort his family and his legions of wailing fans.” Kurt looked up from folding laundry on his bed to shoot a smile at Blaine’s flickering face. He had his laptop perched on a pile of pillows at the head of the bed, so if he sat in the middle they could almost see eye to eye. On the Lima side of the call, he could see the bookshelf with _Sweat, Tears, and Jazz Hands: The Official Story of Show Choir_ behind Blaine’s head, which meant that he had his computer propped up on his desk. They’d gotten remarkably good at making a Skype conversation feel almost natural.

Blaine grinned back. “Yes, our love will bring them comfort as it has done for Brad Pitt and Idris Elba in days past. They will sing songs of how Robert Pattison’s face was destroyed to reunite Kurt and Blaine.”

Kurt giggled into his hand. “You’re such a dork.”

“Spoilsport.” 

“Infant.”

“Says the man exactly seven months my senior.” Blaine smirked and propped his head on his hands in front of the camera.

“They were an eventful seven months, my young friend. Someday you’ll understand.” Kurt folded a sweater with the wisdom of the ages.

“Oh will I? Well, right now I know that we have exactly five days until I leave Lima and seven days until I show up at your door.”

“With smelly air fresheners and ugly potholders.”

“Courtesy of my mother, but Kurt?”

Kurt lifted an eyebrow at the screen, as if to say _yes, dear_?

“Five days. Five days. Five days. Five days. _Five days_.”

“Oh my god. . .”

Blaine bounced in his desk chair like a fourth-grader on no-doze, and even as Kurt rolled his eyes, he knew exactly how Blaine felt. Blaine might have been talking about the move to everyone and everything that moved, but they’d both been counting the days until Blaine and his father piled into a U-Haul and started the drive to New York City. They would show up two days later, exhausted and probably irritated beyond belief, but he and his husband-to-be would also be in the same state for the first time since graduation. Honestly, August 29th was starting to feel like Christmas, New Year’s Eve, and his birthday, all wrapped up in one terrifying package.

“By the way,” Blaine went on, twirling a pen between his fingers. “I think I’ve almost got him convinced that I should be in charge of the playlist for the trip.”

“Convinced as in, ‘that’s a great idea Blaine,’ or convinced as in, ‘I’m going to say yes because I don’t really care and my son is a tremendous pest?’”

“The latter, but it still means I get to spend eight hours listening to Iggy and Lorde instead of The Eagles. He’ll come around. By the time we pull up in front of the loft he’ll be singing along to Royals like a professional. It’s catchy.”

“Either that, or he’ll have you strung up in the back seat by your shoelaces because you wouldn’t stop analyzing the music video. Please just tell me that you’re at least letting him pick the travel food.”

“Of course. Otherwise he’d spend the entire trip telling me about how the processed sugar in my Ring Dings will ‘negatively impact my electrolytes’ or my future ability to run marathons. Never mind the fact that I can’t run a marathon right now. . .”

“I’m sure you’re going to have a wonderful time,” Kurt cut in, “and I’ll be ready with a pint of ice cream to celebrate every wonderful minute between Lima and New York City. When you get in, remind me to tell you about the time that my dad accidentally made fun of Bernadette Peters in front of Hiram Berry. The poor man didn’t know what hit him.”

“Awww.” Blaine melted. “You’re the best fiancé ever.”

“Of course I am, but I think you just like saying the word, fiancé.” Kurt said, with a playful smirk.

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please. You added it to your voicemail message.” Kurt sat up straight and pursed his lips. “ _Hello friends. If I don’t pick up, it’s probably because I’m talking to Kurt, my fiancé. Beep._ ”

“It’s true! I probably am! I have excellent phone etiquette.”

Kurt just nodded and went back to folding. He’d never admit how many times he listened to that message when Blaine changed it, three months ago. He still got a little thrill when Blaine didn’t pick up the phone because he got to hear his future husband sound giddy with pleasure when he said _that word_.

“Oh!” Blaine bounced again, giving the screen a good shake. “Speaking of minutes, I wanted to talk to you about our schedule for the next few weeks. I have to start orientation on Wednesday and you go back for classes on Friday. Plus, you’ve got diner hours. Have you scheduled band practice yet?”

“Still Tuesdays and Thursdays, at least until Elliott hears back about his yoga class. They’re threatening to move it and I think he might actually go postal if he doesn’t stand on his head at least twice a week.”

“Right.” Blaine’s voice dropped to a mutter. “He didn’t say anything about that on his Facebook wall, but that might just be for friends—”

“Why do you ask?” Kurt continued. “You knew September was going to be busy, but you’re Mister 300 Extracurricular Activities. We’ll make it work. We can walk to class together and make dinners on the weekends. I know you have some recipes planned that your parents wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

“I do, and they all have cream in the first three ingredients, but—” Blaine paused and fiddled with the papers on his desk, flipping them back and forth like he was looking for something that wouldn’t materialize. “I just— I know it’s silly to worry about things like this, but I was looking through our schedules and it doesn’t look like we’ll have very much time to— you know— be intimate?”

“Um. Oh.” Kurt coughed out an unintentional laugh, eyes wide in surprise. “How much time do you need?”

“ _Kurt._ ” Blaine looked up from his papers with a sheepish blush. “I’m just saying that we’re going to be living in the same place, in the same apartment, for the first time ever, and I don’t know when we’re going to have time that’s just for _us_. Let’s take next Wednesday, for example. If you have class until 4:30 and I have class until 6, and you start your work shift at 6:45, that leaves us just forty-five minutes for intimacy—”

“Please use a different word.” Kurt said with a snort.

“Fine, sex, fucking, whatever. That leaves forty-five minutes for getting dirty and I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have a little more time for creativity.”

“I do appreciate your creativity,” Kurt smirked, laundry long ago left to wrinkle. “So what do you recommend, oh great sex guru Anderson?” Blaine crossed his arms and glared through the screen, and Kurt jumped back in before he could say anything snippy. “I take it back! You’re truly a sex god among men, and you’re probably right. If we don’t figure out the logistics there might not be any ‘us time,’ and that would be unforgivable. Also, I may have been thinking about the same thing last night, but I only got as far as you sleeping next to me for the rest of our lives—”

“Oh really?” Blaine wiggled his eyebrows straight into the camera and Kurt wanted to swat him across the shoulder. Or something.

“Really, and then I gave up on thinking altogether. It was a very productive evening.”

“You know, next time you should really record all of that . . . productivity. You wouldn’t want that inspiration to go to waste.”

“What makes you think I didn’t already?”

Blaine laughed softly and cocked his head at the screen, drinking in Kurt’s pixelated face with a soft smile. “Hey, Captain Productivity. It’s fifteen minutes after midnight. Do you know what that means?”

“What does that mean?”

 “Four more days?” 

Ah yes, Kurt smiled. “Four more days.”


End file.
